Chapter 602: Chapter 602

A great city backed by stone mountains, surrounded by three concentric walls. Beneath it lay the underground cavern of the Ming Sect.

It was the northernmost edge of the Demonic Realm.

The night air felt different.

Even the outskirts beyond the wall.

It was colder, darker. And the wind was harsher—so harsh that the nearby branches seemed to constantly wave their bare arms.

And there, right beneath them, Jeong Yeon-shin sat, a gaunt shadow flickering against his side.

Jeong Yeon-shin, together with Jоо Gwang-shin and Eo Ung-gong, silently stared in the same direction—toward where the Sword Saint lay, stretched across the brittle branches as if they were his deathbed.

Jeong Yeon-shin suddenly felt grateful for the vastness of the Demonic Realm. Because there were so many stars in the dusky sky. To him, the Sword Saint had bloomed like a spring flower.

The group was lost in thought. Wondering how to handle the Sword Saint’s funeral.

The late Master Jade Sword had the Wudang Sect. The most famous Daoist sect in the world. So his funeral rites had been no trouble at all.

They had buried him with the head-filled casket leading the way, offered to the God of the Open Road.

But the Sword Saint had no one.

Only Jeong Yeon-shin, whom one might call a disciple in life. So of course, the burden of decision fell on Jeong Yeon-shin—how best to handle the Sword Saint’s remains.

“Wouldn’t cremation be best?”

Eo Ung-gong’s youthful voice broke the silence.

“This land is crawling with people-eating beasts of the martial world. Martial artists who can smell blood from a league away. If we bury him here, all kinds of filthy freaks will come scavenging, wanting a piece of the flesh of a supreme master...”

“As if we don’t know that? Try reading the room. You do realize you’ve been acting below your age this entire time?”

Jоо Gwang-shin chastised the youngest of the Three Imperial High Protectors, shooting a glance at Jeong Yeon-shin as he did.

Eo Ung-gong let out a dry chuckle.

“Maybe anyone else, but not you. I’d rather not hear that from you. You act like you know the world, but among the old school sect leaders, you’re nothing more than a pretty fruit with rotten flesh. I’d bet there’s at least one thing they all know that you alone are clueless about.”

“Anyway, it’s not just the people-eaters. The Demonic Realm’s martial world often draws energy from the corpses buried in the ground, doesn’t it? You want to bury someone like the Sword Saint here? No. Absolutely not. Even if it’s not in line with the Four Books and Three Classics, cremation is still the better option...”

By the time he reached that point, Eo Ung-gong also cast a sideways glance at Jeong Yeon-shin. His Adam’s apple shrank visibly.

Jeong Yeon-shin listened quietly.

He no longer showed much emotion. He simply stared down at the Sword Saint, his face unreadable.

The dry tone rippled through the night air.

It wasn’t one of the group.

The voice belonged to someone with such deep internal cultivation that even the dead would show him respect. But none of them showed alarm.

A man had appeared out of nowhere.

His features resembled Tae Yeom-ryong’s—youthful and elegant. His face always seemed carefree, and a thin bead of sweat clung to it.

As if he’d ridden a different pulley up, then rushed over here.

It was the Divine Beast King, Hwangbo Gon.

“I came to see him off. Guess I made it just in time.”

At his words, Jоо Gwang-shin asked,

“You all right? The Demonic Sect won’t take this kindly.”

“Even if they hate me, what can I do? Those lunatic fanatics are short a hand right now. They barely have enough energy left to keep the underground cavern intact.”

Hwangbo Gon spoke as if chatting with his grandson. Only the faint sorrow in his eyes as he glanced at the Sword Saint revealed any weight.

“That man—back when I was the Clan Head of the Hwangbo—he was known as the Heroic Ghost. Since he was a wanderer, he never joined the Dragon-Phoenix Meet, and the noble clan bastards all looked down on him...”

He left with the Divine Sword Commander as his mourner. That’s enough.

Hwangbo Gon ended his words that way. As if to say nothing more was needed.

Jоо Gwang-shin nodded and asked,

“Then, what brings you?”

Just then, from behind them, an aged voice echoed like a cave.

He had truly appeared out of nowhere. An old man in white robes, lightly dusted with soil.

A Grand Elder of the Ming Sect.

He seemed to have emerged from a strange dimensional hollow.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s eye twitched, as though about to flare, but upon seeing the translucent form of the old man, he calmed.

It was a spirit form, forged with the strength of the upper elixir field and the energy of the lower—an avatar, a projection.

The Grand Elder stared directly at Jeong Yeon-shin with eyes gleaming with madness.

[Divine Sword Commander. Let us make a deal. One you’ll find satisfactory.]

An immense presence. The winter air, already cold, turned glacial.

A faint black breath escaped Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips. Unresolved demonic energy.

“Don’t speak to me so casually.”

[You already know, don’t you? This land is filled with creatures who crave human flesh. If you bury a swordsman with such a body out here, it won’t end well. Instead, we’ll keep him safe. The rites won’t be Demonic Sect ones, but proper Ming-style funerals.]

The old demon’s politeness was fluid.

As Eo Ung-gong, Jоо Gwang-shin, and Hwangbo Gon’s expressions grew strange, Jeong Yeon-shin asked,

[The day you and our leader cross paths again will come. When that day arrives, just for a moment, consider holding back your blade.]

[Perhaps not. One of our strongest final-stage masters... Specifically, the Silent Demon of the Twin Demons of Light and Shadow—is someone you’re looking for.]

Ma Gwang-ik. Baek Mi-ryeo.

No names were given, but anyone could guess. It was one of Jeong Yeon-shin’s sorest wounds.

This translation is the intellectual property of Novelight.

“Even if you came as a projection, that doesn’t mean your true body is safe.”

The Grand Elder fell silent.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s voice, with all three halos perfected, carried the pressure of a northern storm. A serene yet boundless power.

[...Even so, our proposal stands. Silent Demon Baek Mi-ryeo now serves our leader of her own will. I swear—there’s been no coercion, no threats. Which is why our offer to you is nothing more than—]

He, a particularly dignified demon of the Ming Sect, was cut off mid-sentence.

Because of the sudden blow that slammed into him.

With a thunderous crash, the Grand Elder’s chest caved in. An invisible force struck squarely at his solar plexus. A split second later, a thunderclap-like echo rolled outward—rummmble—

Blood gushed from the Grand Elder’s mouth. Eo Ung-gong and Jоо Gwang-shin both murmured in disbelief.

“His palm barely moved an inch.”

“He imbued spellforce into a remote palm strike...?”

At that moment, Jeong Yeon-shin was already face-to-face with the Grand Elder, their gazes locked. Only the blackened trail of his movement remained, slowly dissipating like smoke.

The Grand Elder of the Ming Sect.

He had paid the price for speaking so flippantly, as if Baek Mi-ryeo were just another disciple of the Ming Sect. Such words were not only inappropriate but a violation of basic etiquette even among the great orthodox sects.

It was simply that no one dared hold a Grand Elder of the Ming Sect accountable to common courtesies.

A grown young man, and an old man whose mind ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) had been hollowed out by demonic energy.

Jeong Yeon-shin stood higher.

The Grand Elder had to lift his bloodied lips to look up at him.

Divine Sword Commander Seomye. Though still dressed in his faded gray robes, he carried the presence of someone cloaked in imperial purple.

The Grand Elder of the Ming Sect. The former Hwangbo Clan Head. The Master of the Beggars’ Guild. One of the Three Imperial High Protectors.

Only supreme masters stood here.

And they could all sense it—Jeong Yeon-shin's upper elixir field blazed with more radiant force than anyone else among them.

That resonant hum revealed insight no lesser than that of noble bloodlines. A mental technique that precisely separated truth from illusion.

Jeong Yeon-shin spoke slowly.

“You owe me a three-year mourning.”

Which meant he was accepting the deal. Taking a pause before drawing his sword again—such a thing meant little in the greater scope of things.

In the mind games played between supreme masters, even a single exchange could fill dozens of pages if put to writing.

[Three years? Three full years? You mean to—?!]

The Grand Elder gave a low, heated chuckle.

It was more awe than mockery.

Demonic beings typically applauded those who defied the natural order. To them, Jeong Yeon-shin’s casual words were a profound rebellion against fate.

The Grand Elder's tone became noticeably more docile.

[I will personally oversee the Sword Saint's funeral. I won't leave it to my subordinates.]

Hwangbo Gon cut in lightly.

“If you’ve got any room to spare, look in on my grandson too, will you? After reaching Triple Flame Harmonization at the Ice Palace, the little brat’s gotten so arrogant I can't even tell if he'll live through the next year.”

Jeong Yeon-shin continued quietly, his eyes still fixed on the Sword Saint lying peacefully, as if asleep.

“I always keep watch over those around me.”

Jeong Yeon-shin turned his back on Stronghold Ridge. By now, he was naturally accompanied by the two who had become his companions.

The dirt road stretched ahead in rough lumps.

The ground was unkempt, and sharp tree branches jutted out on either side like spears. It felt more like a path forged by Yozoku weapons than a route meant for travelers.

No matter how you looked at it, this wasn’t land maintained by the government.

Though the Southern Emperor had declared the birth of a new nation, there was no way this road could be called an official route. It was merely a worn trail left behind by countless footsteps.

“They have no intention of developing this place.”

Eo Ung-gong said as he walked lightly.

His shoulders now looked far more at ease, thanks to Jeong Yeon-shin having taken over carrying Joo Gwang-shin on his back.

It was also because they had fully left the tense confines of the Ming Sect behind.

“The Southern Emperor, that wretch, spent his whole life glaring up at Ming China. He sees no reason to cultivate land he’s planning to abandon anyway. Shameless bastard, isn’t he?”

“Maybe it’s not arrogance but a lack of resources.”

Joo Gwang-shin responded from Jeong Yeon-shin’s back in a blank tone.

“What use is paving roads when there's no trade to move along them? The Southern Emperor was a man of deep schemes.”

“So you’re the type who would sell out his own country, huh.”

Eo Ung-gong said this with a peaceful expression, then turned to Jeong Yeon-shin.

“So, what’s your next move? Since we’re traveling together now, we ought to know.”

Jeong Yeon-shin answered with a calm question of his own.

“Are you planning to follow me?”

“I stayed in this land to harvest the heads of those Northern Kings. That’s the only reason I didn’t return with the army. If I had gone with the new emperor to Beijing, I’d probably be standing guard over the Forbidden City by now.”

One of the Three Imperial High Protectors.

The three divine swords of the late Emperor Gunreung.

They had suffered a crushing defeat at the hands of the Martial Army led by the War God, and now lived scattered throughout the Demonic Realm, moving like wandering martial artists.

None had revealed their true purpose to anyone.

But at least in this moment, Eo Ung-gong's words rang with sincerity. Jeong Yeon-shin gazed at him quietly, then lifted his head.

Dawn had broken before he realized it.

How long had he been staring at the stars? The faintly brightening sky felt unfamiliar. And at the same time, for the first time, he could feel a strength rising within him—one that made anything seem possible.

A divine upper elixir field that had evolved on its own. Because of it, his body, which had previously relied on innate talent alone to maintain the Triple Flame Harmonization, was now gradually returning to its natural balance.

Jeong Yeon-shin's eyes flashed black and white. Lightning of both shades flared and flickered within his irises, occasionally unstable.

But his inner force itself wasn’t unstable.

Once his senses grabbed hold of something, they never let go. The third halo that the Sword Saint had completed for him was now fully under Jeong Yeon-shin’s control.

“I’m heading down to Yeokru Fortress.”

Eo Ung-gong’s round eyes widened slightly.

“Yeokru from here is a two-thousand-li journey. That’s wide enough to fit four or five kingdoms. Just entering the territories of Gwangpungmak and the Crimson King Chi Clan will take a day or two on foot... That’s at least 120 li. It’s going to be a long trip.”

Gwangpungmak. Crimson King Chi Clan.

The Northern King factions of the Anti-War-God Alliance.

Jeong Yeon-shin had once heard of them from Jeon U-rip, the Great Commander of Ming China. But the names still felt foreign.

The northern fringe of the Demonic Realm was already considered the outskirts of the northern martial world. These were the domains where Northern Kings, absolute lords of the Anti-War-God Alliance, had settled after surviving their rebellion against the War God.

If you were to travel two thousand li through this land, you’d inevitably step through several of these territories.

Even just 120 li south of here, one would have to pass through the massive gorge called Bloodgrudge Ravine.

A place where blood demons, deprived of their rightful heir by the white-haired Crimson Flame Cult Leader, and the horse-riding clans of the former Yuan Dynasty constantly clashed for territory.

A land of blood aristocrats and fallen royal lineages.

“Will you detour around Bloodgrudge Ravine? I’m asking because I don’t know your current priority—whether you aim to arrive quickly, hone your martial arts further before your revenge, or something else.”

“If any of the Northern Kings are worth keeping alive, I plan to bring them under my command and lead them south as quickly as possible. So, I suppose... all three.”

At Jeong Yeon-shin’s words, a brief stillness settled around them.

A long silence that had surrounded them for some time.

In that strange quiet, the group passed through 120 li of their journey, eventually reaching a gorge made entirely of white stone.

None of them bothered to count how many nights or days had passed.

Jeong Yeon-shin was refining his insights, Eo Ung-gong was filled with doubt, and Joo Gwang-shin was quietly unsettled.